


overworked and underfunded

by tomas_abe



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-22 09:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomas_abe/pseuds/tomas_abe
Summary: Kara Danvers is just very very stressed y'all. And busy. Gosh is she busy.Still, she's determined to remember tomorrow's dinner.(She just hopes her paperwork doesn't drown her before then)





	1. Dinner Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomthingsthatilike123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomthingsthatilike123/gifts).



> a snippet of a could’ve been

///

“C’mon Maggie. Please!” a disheveled-looking Kara Danvers begs as she follows Detective Sawyer into the 15th District NCPD building.

Kara’s ruffled appearance is not uncommon. In fact, it is joked around the station that Kara’s rumpled pantsuits and crooked glasses have become almost as permanent a feature on the young blonde as her sunny smile.

“Robbie is playing dirty!” Kara exclaims, pausing long enough to hand over a white pastry box to the officer manning the front desk and getting a smile and a salute in return before she’s off again, rushing after Maggie.

“She’s not disclosing who one of her witnesses is for the Ruiz case,” Kara continues, “and I just know it’s going to be someone important but Judge Connors is in court all day today so I can’t pester him about it and I won’t have any time in the next week either because I have Higgins going to pre-trial, the Musafah case going through jury selection and I’m still trying to arrange a plea deal with Tommy before the next round of witnesses in the Jackson case. This without mentioning the nine misdemeanor charges I have to look into before the weekend and-”

“Jesus Kara,” Maggie stops at her desk, quickly putting down a rather worn briefcase on the top of it before turning and placing her hands on Kara’s shoulders.

(Neither of them say a peep of how Kara has to bend at the knees a little for Maggie to be able to reach.

Nope-y sir)

“Stop,” Maggie instructs the younger woman seriously, “take a breath.” Once Kara does, Maggie nods in approval before continuing, “Good. Another. There we go.”

Now that Kara isn’t rambling, Maggie crosses her arms, eyes taking in the other woman for a few moments before an amused smile slowly spreads across her face at the sight of an ink-stain behind Kara’s ear that she doubts the harried attorney has had a chance to see.

“I don’t know who ADA Hold is using as witness,” Maggie admits after her inspection has been completed, “I wasn’t involved in the Ruiz collar, but I can ask around. I’ll let you know ok?”

Kara bursts into a beaming smile, quickly gathering Maggie up in a bear of a hug that literally lifts the detective off her feet for a few moments.

“Gosh Maggie thank you thank you thank you,” Kara chants.

“Yea yeah,” Maggie pats at Kara’s back gently, a quick tap to let her know that she’d like to be put down now. Kara complies hurriedly, a blush and sheepish grin now adorning her features.

“No skin off my nose,” Maggie chuckles, “just don’t forget that I expect Alex and you for dinner tomorrow ok?”

“Dinner tomorrow,” Kara nods, picking up the briefcase that Maggie had held for her when she had seen Kara struggle to juggle it, the donut box, and trying open the station’s doors. “Got it.”

Something beeps and Kara fumbles with the pager attached to her hip, which her boss uses to communicate stuff to the staff. She blanches.

“Oh gosh, Mendez just assigned me another felony case.”

“Shiiit,” Maggie swears. “Isn’t that your third this week? Jesus Kara, when do you sleep?”

“When the innocent are free,” Kara mumbles, looking at the pager in clear distress for another second before moving in to kiss Maggie’s cheek.

“Wow, ok Perry Mason, simmer down,” Maggie laughs, holding Kara in place by the lapel of her coat for another couple of seconds so she can adjust the blonde’s crooked collar.

Kara, delighted by the comparison, laughs too. Then her pager beeps again and she whimpers.

“Bye Maggie, love you,” Kara blurts out, already half-rushing back to the station’s entrance. “Get me that name and I’ll blackmail Alex into going with you to the new vegan place near Broadway,” she adds over her shoulder. “She’ll hate it!”

“Dang, with that incentive I’ll get you the name by tonight Danvers!” Maggie shouts back with a laugh.

And in a flurry of polyester, nylons and blonde-hair, Kara departs the station in the same way she entered: flustered, harried, and very very grateful for Maggie Sawyer.

///

“Danvers!” someone calls across the hallway at the National City County Public Defenders Office. When Kara sees who it is, her reflexive smile instantly falls from her face.

“Robbie,” she calls back with a wince, doubling her efforts to walk away as hurriedly as humanly-possible, when one also considers the twenty-plus-pound crate of paperwork that she’s lugging around. Unfortunately, the brown-haired woman who called for her is very very tall, even taller than Kara, and soon her long-legged stride catches up with the agitated blonde.

“Whatever you need, you can leave a note under my door,” Kara says, hiking up her paper-filled crate higher in her arms and hoping to prevent conversation while she’s in such a hurry.

“Aw, c’mon Danvers don’t be like that,” Robbie teases with a wink, her pace relaxed, her hair as impeccable as her immaculately-tailored skirt suit.

Kara doesn’t often feel envious of people for superficial reasons, but the picture of ease and grace that the other woman projects is really hitting her buttons.

Her self-consciousness buttons.

Which is ridiculous, because Kara is very much an alien, specifically an alien who was raised mostly without the strange notions of beauty and jealousy that are so inherent to American culture.

That being said, Kara hasn’t washed her hair in three days and still smells of the pungent cigarette smoke that her last client huffed at her after recklessly lighting up in front of Kara and three armed police officers. Thus, Kara gives herself a moment to feel enviousness, or rather, wistfulness, for some other long-passed days when she had time to regularly iron her clothes and condition her hair.  

Good times.

“Sorry,” Kara says, shaking off her moment of longing. “I really don’t have time, I have a client waiting for me in county.”

“Let me walk you out,” Robbie offers, even though she was already walking alongside Kara.

“Ok sure,” Kara shrugs, “here you can help me with my files,” she says before depositing her crate of paperwork into the other woman’s arms, carefully ignoring how the additional weight causes the tall brunette to teeter in her sky-high heels.

“Jesus Danvers,” Robbie wheezes, “what do you have in here? Rocks?”

“Notes on the juvenile case that started last week,” Kara responds absent-mindedly, too focused on her phone and the frantic emails sent by one of last week’s clients. Apparently, the man has been arrested again for shop-lifting and would really appreciate her representation.

“Oooo,” Robbie whistles, “the Robles case? I hear they got that kid set to rights, witnesses seeing him shoot a couple of rounds from his pistol and everything.”

“Yeah well, there were extenuating circumstances,” Kara answers, quickly typing out to Mr. Figueroia that she would love to represent him, but he was just arrested in Nevada, and Kara, having a more than full caseload, cannot in good conscience take the time to travel across states just for him. But she adds that there are several Las Vegas attorneys she can recommend, if he’s interested.

“The kid did actually murder Velazquez though,” Robbie continues, “like, people actually saw this Danvers. He won’t get out of it.”

“Like I said,” Kara grumbles, “extenuating circumstances. I think I can make a case for self-defense. Also, with Rory at the bench, I think I might be able to even get the kid off without any jail-time.”

At the other lawyer’s incredulous look, Kara allows herself a smirk. A really small one. Teeny-tiny.

“Fuck Danvers,” Robbie says appreciatively, “you’ve got some real balls girl. And shit, if your reputation is even half as true as the others whisper about, then you might even succeed.”

“Hmm,” Kara hums before looking directly at Robbie’s eyes, with what hardened criminals have described once or twice as a piercing glare, “is that why you’re hiding a witness from me?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Robbie says, brown eyes all big and innocent, “I disclosed all witnesses to you during discovery. Although, I have to say, some of us mere mortals have to resort to other means to defeat you Oh-So-Blessed-Danvers,” she adds, laughter practically at the edge of spilling.

“Oh shush you,” Kara grumbles back waspishly, “Tommy will kill you as soon as he finds out you know? He’s the honorable sort.”

“Fuck Tommy,” Robbie says with feeling, making Kara let out a mock-scandalized gasp.

“Are you aware he’s your boss?” she whispers, looking around furtively, as if to check for eavesdroppers.

(There are four people listening in on their conversation in this hallway alone)

“Not for long,” Robbie whispers back, “rumors are Peter is running for the DA office.”

“No way,” Kara gasps, her scandalized face now for real, “Peter Armitage? Mr. Precedent-Is-Optional-Your-Honor? That moron?”

“Ouch,” Robbie winces, “strong words from Saint Danvers.”

“Armitage can suck my-”

“Kara!” shouts out one of the various interns running around the office, “Mendez wants you to report to his office!”

“Shoot,” Kara grimaces as the intern begins to literally run, a sheaf of papers cradled against his chest carefully even as his pace picks up into a full-blown sprint as soon as he rounds the corner, “I have to go.”

Kara grabs her crate back without warning, a rather shameful feeling of satisfaction coursing through her as she sees the taller woman almost lose her balance again once the weight is removed.

“Nice talk Robbie,” Kara says with her brightest smile, “I’ll get that damn name and you will rue the day you tried such bullshit tactics on me.”

“Um,” Robbie stammers, obviously put off by the contrast between Kara’s words and Kara’s demeanor.

Kara is almost at the end of the hallway before the other woman regains her wits enough to call out “I’d like to see you try Your Holiness!”

Kara doesn’t even turn around, she just flips the bird over her shoulder and smiles as the other woman laughs.

///

Later that day, after having to tell a client that his best bet will be to plead guilty and take the six-months jail-time the DA office offered, Maggie calls.

Kara lifts up her head from her desk in a hurry, ignoring the paper stuck to her forehead in her haste to answer her ringing phone before it falls off the edge of her desk.

“Hey Maggie,” she breathes out as soon as she answers, “please give me some good news.”

“Sorry hon,” Maggie says, already sounding chagrined, “no can do. Donovan is keeping mum about the case. All I could get out of him is that the witness will be testifying under a pseudonym.”

“Shit,” Kara curses, rubbing her face in frustration, “an informant?”

“Seems likely,” Maggie confirms, “and you know how Donovan keeps all his CI’s close to his vest. I can’t even begin to guess on who it could be.”

“Shit,” Kara repeats, “thanks anyways Maggie.”

“No problem Kara. Good luck. And,” here she hesitates a bit, “not to sound like a broken record or anything but-”

“Dinner tomorrow,” Kara reels off, “Got it. Bye. Love you.”

“You too.”

///

After a difficult morning at work, followed by a difficult afternoon at work, followed by cleaning up a nasty accident at Grand, Kara is starving.

She flies to her favorite food truck, not even changing before ordering four subs and some fries. She is sitting on the food truck’s roof, just in the middle of eating said fries, when a man with a briefcase trots up to her.

“Yo! Supergirl,” he hollers, waving up at her.

“Um- hi?” Kara waves back, unsure of what he wants.

Without pausing, the man takes an envelope from his briefcase and leans against the truck on his tiptoes, sticking it between her hand and her fries.

“You’ve been served.”

///

“Alex!”

“Supergirl!” Alex yelps in surprise, “Where the hell did you come from?”

“No time,” Kara says, already waving the envelope from earlier in the air. “Alex, I was subpoenaed. As Supergirl.”

Alex gapes for about a whole minute before putting her head in her hands with a groan.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

“No shit,” Kara agrees.

“Who did it?” Alex asks, fingers still covering her eyes, “the DA office has never done this before. I thought there was an unspoken rule or something.”

“There is,” Kara confirms, “Ever since friggin’ Batman, it has been kind of going unsaid in judicial circles that you build your case  _around_  the Cape. But I guess the newest ADA, Robin Hold, didn’t get the memo. It’s for the Ruiz case.”

“Fuck,” Alex says, this time louder.

“ _No shit_ ,” Kara agrees.

“Isn’t that the man Kara Danvers is defending? With the murder charges?” Vasquez pipes up from her station, where she has been following the conversation with a startled sort of amusement.

“Same one,” Kara confirms, knowing Susan knows.

“Fuck,” Vasquez says.

“No shit,” Kara and Alex agree.

“Ok. Well. Can’t you just not go?” Alex asks, eyes hopeful from between her fingers as she drags her hands down her face.

“Subpoena,” Kara explains. “I can be held in contempt if I refuse.”

“I know. But I mean, it’s not as if they can catch you,” Alex tentatively says.

“No,” Kara agrees, “but it might look bad. The fact that Hold even went for a subpoena already sets a precedent I might not be able to shake. Also, as soon as it comes out I was subpoenaed everyone is going to start looking at the case and what I do. So everyone will know if I don’t show up. And if I get held in contempt… I don’t know. It’ll look bad. Both image-wise and in the eyes of law enforcement, who, might I remind you, I have to deal with pretty much daily.”

“Fuck,” Alex groans, already looking stressed beyond belief.

“No shit,” Kara and Vasquez reply.

“What’s your best option?” Vasquez asks.

“Argue with the judge that this sets a bad precedent,” Kara says with a shrug, “can’t drag Supergirl to court on all the people she stops or things she sees. And, I mean, there’s a lot of polarizing opinions on Capes, juries will be hell to select.”

“Will those arguments work?”

“With Judge Connors?” Kara winces, “Who knows?”

“He’s a bitch,” Alex clarifies.

“He’s harsh when the mood strikes him,” Kara corrects.

They all sigh.

“I’ll have to think on this. Worst case scenario: I can finally please all the xenophobes by trying to argue that Supergirl is too alien to understand human laws. I don’t know,” Kara groans. She’s too busy for this shit. Far far far too busy. 

“You do that,” Alex says, hugging Kara sideways, “I’ll try to think of something too. Maybe I can get Hank to argue jurisdiction. Hell, maybe even Lane Senior might be able to pull strings. God knows he’d hate for you to get more involved in human affairs.”

“Thanks Alex,” Kara says, sagging onto her sister’s side, careful to not lean too much weight on her. But the calm doesn’t last long for the crackling sound of a distant fire soon reaches Kara’s hearing.

Without opening her eyes, Kara groans again.

“What?” Alex asks, tightening the arm around Kara.

“Fire in the meatpacking district,” she mumbles, regretfully extricating herself from her sister’s hold.

“Again?” Alex asks, the disbelief following Kara even as she throws herself out of the balcony.

“It’s one of the stupid Wolaski buildings,” Kara says into the Bluetooth stuck to her ear, her phone already connected to Alex’s mobile, “the owners haven’t fixed the insulation. I’m seriously thinking of having a friend in Kassius & Associates slap a civil suit on them. Hell, maybe I can convince Tommy to look into some criminal negligence charge or something.”

“How is that old geezer?” Alex asks, her voice distorted by the wind roaring against Kara’s ears.

“In trouble,” she grunts, landing near the burning fire and taking it in with a critical eye. “Apparently Armitage is running against him.”

“No way! Mr. White Privilege himself?”

Kara runs through the building at superspeed, helping out those who weren’t able to evacuate in time with the rest of the employees.

“Yeah,” Kara belatedly replies, once everyone is securely out of the burning structure, “apparently there’s been some discontent in how Tommy’s been giving out plea deals and losing cases lately. People are starting to think he’s turned soft on crime.”

Alex snorts on the other end of the line. “Was Tommy ever hard on crime?” she asks, sounding doubtful.

“Back in the 80s I think,” Kara responds, already flying around the building, blowing cold air into the few spots too hot for the firefighters to approach but careful to not freeze any part of the structure, wary of the shoddy thing collapsing if she does. “He’s been incumbent since then. People liked his charm enough to ignore that he’s always been more of a champion of rehabilitation than incarceration.”

“Damn,” Alex says, “never thought I’d see Mr. Horowitz lose the DA seat.”

“He hasn’t lost it yet,” Kara says, tone steely as she catches a fireman that stumbles on one of the rings of his ladder as he moves down, having successfully put out the flames at the top of the building. “I’m planning to do some hard-core campaigning in the upcoming months. You in?”

“Hell yeah,” Alex responds, “Tommy helped me out with more DUI’s than he probably should have, back in the day. I owe that old timer.”

“Back in the day? What are you? Fifty?” Kara teases, feeling lighter as she extinguishes the last of the flame. “The fires are out.”

“Stop making fun of your elders,” Alex replies grumpily, “You coming back to base?”

“Nah, I’ve got to see a client.”

“Ok. Oh, by the way, remember that-”

“Dinner tomorrow. Got it.”

///

Predictably, Kara forgets about dinner the next day, too busy frantically alternating between putting out metaphorical and literal fires ( _again_ , fucking Wolaski buildings) to remember.

Thankfully, Maggie knows her well enough to show up at her cramped office with half an hour to spare.

She comes in already smiling in fond exasperation, firmly grabbing Kara’s hand and dragging her outside while making fun of the Hello Kitty flower pot adorning her desk, all before Kara can even think to object.

(The hypocrite, it was Maggie who gifted her the plant and flower pot in the first place)

Kara tightens her grip on Maggie’s hand, giving herself permission to shake off the worries of the day.

Let future Kara deal with them.


	2. The Irrationality of Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra hectic day for Ms. Kara Danvers, public defender extraordinaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how the tags used to say this wasn’t serious at all? Well, I made myself a liar by having more thoughts about this. 
> 
> Serious thoughts

 

Kara wakes with a whimper, already reaching for the phone ringing near her head and blearily cursing the name of whoever was contacting her at – she turns to the duct-taped digital clock sitting safely out of reach atop her bookshelf – 3:19 in the morning.

She squints at her phone’s overly-bright screen and reads out  _Initial Defense Legal Aid_.

Dang.

Flopping onto her back, Kara rubs at her tired eyes, strongly suspecting sleep will soon become an unreachable torment, then answers.

“Hullo,” she mumbles into the receiver, voice still clumsy from sleep.

“Sorry Ms. Danvers,” someone says. Kara knows most everyone who works for the organization, but she doesn’t recognize the voice so she assumes it’s probably some new and overwhelmed volunteer.

“I already did this month’s shift,” Kara says, hoping the call is just a rookie mistake from the recently-hired volunteer.

“I know Ms. Danvers,” the girl on the other end of the line says, crushing Kara’s hopes. “And I’m sorry for the late call, but we can’t reach any of the lawyers who were supposed to be on-call tonight and we’ve already got three people on the hotline calling from the 10th District station. Apparently, the Animal Crimes Task Force busted an opossum fighting ring.”

“An opossum fighting ring?” Kara repeats, a mix of disbelief and resignation turning her voice faint and high-pitched.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl meekly confirms.

“Look kid,” Kara says, after a momentary beat of contemplation over National City’s weirdness, “I really can’t. In six hours I have to-”

“Please Ms. Danvers,” begs the poor volunteer, desperation wrapped around every syllable, “Miss Monica said you were one of the few we could always count on to take our calls.”

Inwardly blaming her dumbass bleeding heart, Kara sighs in defeat, already knowing she’ll accept the new clients.

Looks like another early start for her.

///

“Danvers,” a tall and handsome detective smiles at Kara, intercepting her beeline towards the interrogation rooms by planting himself in front of her, his large frame blocking her way.

“Lewis,” Kara replies, already clenching her jaw and bunching her shoulders together in preparation for whatever nasty words will soon be sent her way.

Unlike the good people over on 15th, the officers from NCPD’s 10th District Station are the worst examples of the profession. Kara doesn’t know if it’s a problem in leadership or if it’s due to their close proximity to the drugs and organized crime centered near the docks but, whatever the reason, the 10th station is full of racist, corrupt, and increasingly morally-compromised pricks.

And of them all, Detective Oliver Lewis is one of the most obnoxious: inflexible in his views, violent in nature, and with no sense of critical thinking whatsoever.

“How is Officer Sawyer these days?” Lewis mockingly asks, his blue eyes striking and cruel. “Your girlfriend fucked up that big case over on Odyssey didn’t she? You think Commander Fordham will demote her down to traffic again?”

Honestly, how this bozo made Detective is one of the world’s greatest mysteries. 

“ _Detective_  Sawyer is doing great actually,” Kara grits out from behind the forced smile she’s sporting, bristling inside at the man’s gall to insult someone as competent as Maggie when he probably can’t even tie his laces without the Triad’s go ahead. “She got a commendation last month for her actions during the earthquake. And that investigation was good on her end. It was the DA’s office who decided to drop the charges.”

Lewis snorts.

“More like you convinced Tommy Horowitz to sweep the mess under the rug. God knows he’s chummy with you. Although, if you want dick so badly, I’m sure there’s someone else who’d be happy to oblige,” he leers, taking a step closer to Kara and looming over her.

Thing is, Kara is not afraid of what the detective can do to her. She will never have to fear an attack from him because, big as he is, Lewis is humanly fragile compared to her.

Kara is also aware that, if not for her Kryptonian constitution, she would absolutely shy away from him.

So she shrinks a little and takes a few steps back, creating space between them and silently burns with fury at how the smirk that sullies his handsome features turns triumphant.

(Burns with a fury borne from the injustice inherent in the fact that very few have the sort of power, physical or otherwise, that leads to fearlessness in the face of men like Oliver Lewis)

“Detective Lewis, I just want to see my clients. Please let me through,” Kara pleads, somehow managing to wrestle some politeness into her tone. Rao’s will be done, hopefully the man’s ego will be satisfied enough by it to let Kara pass.

“Nah Danvers. I think I should keep you company a bit longer while my friends finish up their talks,” Lewis drawls, smugly leaning an arm against the wall next to Kara’s head and stepping forwards into crowding her space again.

(This is what people forget: Kara is a lawyer, not a saint, and her patience is not limitless)

In a matter of seconds, Kara compacts her body into a smaller shape that can slip underneath Lewis’ arm.

He’s quick though, already moving his body into her space again, so she is forced to wedge her shoulder into his chest with  _juuust_  enough force to knock the air out of him and make him stumble back.

Now free to move at will, Kara approaches the nearest room from which she can hear voices. Before turning the handle though, she looks over her shoulder at a recovering Lewis.

“I do not care for your company,” she calmly informs him. “But I do care about you keeping me from reaching my clients. If I find that your stalling tactics have been used to bring them any harm, or if their rights have been violated any way during my absence, you will discover that I do not require a dick to see you face consequences for your behavior.”

With her point now made, and ignoring Lewis crudely gesturing at her back, Kara twists the door handle and readies for her first client of the day.

///

Thankfully, other than the usual ugliness involved in interacting with Detective Lewis and his ilk, Kara’s morning does not turn too overwhelming.

The suspects, smart enough to call the Initial Defense Legal Aid hotline before their questioning, turned out to be more witnesses than collaborators. Thus, between Kara advising them to talk little and her efforts in highlighting their obvious cluelessness, the detectives in charge were unable to bully any sort of confession out of her clients and they had been free to go.

Then – between a few depositions, a bail hearing, haggling with DDA Turner on three misdemeanors, and checking in on the newly-acquitted Carlito Robles – Kara had to put out a few fires, rescue a drowning swimmer, stop a gas station robbery, and guiltily hit a vaguely crustacean-looking alien until it stopped its violent rampaging through the docks.

Now way past noon, Kara is starving, but there is something she must do before she can attempt to put a dent on her stupidly immense hunger.

“Hey Lucy,” she calls out into the spacious office of Lucy Lane, Catco’s most recent lawyer and Kara’s most recent friend.

“Kara!” Lucy replies in surprise, lifting her head from what Kara thinks might be some sort of patent contract. “Hi. You looking for Winn?”

Usually, that would be the case.

(The office hasn’t been able to afford an investigator since the late 90s, so Kara often finds herself doing most of the leg-work. Which would be fine, if she didn’t have as many cases as she does.

So, sometimes, not often but sometimes – ever since she met Winn at Noonan’s two years ago, him getting coffee for Cat Grant after one of her assistants had been fired and Kara trying to take advantage of the faster Wi-fi to retrace the steps of one of her teenage defendants through Instagram – Kara goes to Winn for help. Nothing illegal or too difficult to obtain, but stuff that tends to be a little more time-consuming than she can afford)

Today though…

“Nope. I’m actually looking for you,” Kara cheerfully says.

“Ah,” Lucy nods, leaning back on her ergonomic chair. It looks comfy. Unlike Kara’s office chair, which has been stuck at an 85-degree angle since she got it. It’s impossible to recline back against it.

So yeah, Kara is kinda jealous of Lucy’s chair.

“Would you like to go get a late lunch?” Kara asks, shaking off her jealousy, “I need a favor.”

“And here I hoped it’d be a social call,” Lucy drawls sarcastically. “Feeling really loved right now.”

“Sorry,” Kara shrugs awkwardly, feeling a little sheepish.

Not guilty though.

Never guilty.

Kara stopped feeling any shame or guilt when asking for favors on her second day on the job. There’s no time for those feelings. Not with people’s freedom on the line.

At her apology though, Lucy just laughs.

“Nah,” she says, “it’s cool, I’m just messing with you. And hey, at least you’re being upfront about it. Remember when James took me on a surprise trip to Mexico last month?”

“Yeah,” Kara remembers bumping into James Olsen, ocean-salt smell clinging to him, a few weeks ago near Winn’s cubicle, “Cabo right?”

“Cabo,” Lucy confirms, “well, it turns out my dad was in town that same week. What a coincidence huh?”

Oh. Right. Kara remembers the brainstorming session she had overheard between Winn and James after she had absent-mindedly mentioned hearing of General Sam Lane’s imminent arrival from Alex.

“Coincidence of which I had no knowledge or involvement,” Kara belatedly answers, finally noticing Lucy’s raised eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” Lucy’s disbelief evident in her tone, “anyways. What’s up?”

“I need access to your Westlaw account,” Kara admits. “You guys have the Cali and New York packages right?”

“Yeah,” Lucy confirms, “Why?”

“I’m looking for a particular New York case that I think might help with a situation I have going on,” Kara hedges, unsure still of Lucy’s actual position on Supergirl or Capes in general.

“Vague,” Lucy teases, smile as sharp as the razor-edge intelligence lurking behind her eyes.

“Sorry,” Kara says, sincere in her apology. “Can’t really say more. I’d go to my usual law library but Jenny is still angry with me and I don’t want to antagonize her by showing my face.”

“Jenny?” Lucy asks.

“The main librarian,” Kara says with a grimace, which Lucy immediately picks up on.

“What did you do?” Lucy asks, all curiosity and interest. “Accidentally tear a page out of a book or something?”

“Nope,” Kara says, “I got her brother’s suspected murderer acquitted.”

That surprises Lucy. The better-dressed lawyer blinks a few times, obviously trying to fit this tidbit of information with her mental image of who Kara is.

“Oh,” Lucy finally says, obviously still unsure of what to verbalize.  

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

“Yep,” Kara agrees.

Silence falls between them again as Lucy continues to try and get over her surprise.

Kara doesn’t mind. She’s used to the shock.

Although everyone in her life knows she’s a public defender, few truly think about what it  _means_. Usually the assumption is that she defends people who are innocent from a system that has the odds stacked against them. Rarely do they consider how she defends the potentially guilty too. Not even Alex, the usual recipient of Kara’s rants against the DEO’s policies of wrongful imprisonment and lack of due process, really gets it.

Of all her friends and acquaintances, who aren’t also co-workers, it’s probably only Maggie who understands the full scope of what she does.

(Which has, admittedly, caused an argument between the two once or twice)

Finally, Lucy shakes off her surprise. And, with whatever reasoning she has come up with to explain away Kara’s actions now processed to her satisfaction, Lucy grabs her purse and walks over to the doorway, from which Kara has yet to move.

“The sandwich truck on Fifth?” Lucy proposes. “Then back here so you can use my computer?”

“Sure,” Kara says. “I’ll owe you. Dinner on me next week?”

“Hell no,” Lucy snorts, leading the way to the elevators, “Dinner’s on me.”

“Lucy…”

“Kara,” Lucy stops walking and tugs at Kara’s sleeve until she bends down a bit, so they can be eye to eye. “I like you. And I don’t mean to sound like an asshole but, I’ve seen your paycheck. It’s…” here Lucy hesitates, not wanting to sound insensitive.

“Basically nonexistent?” Kara suggests, well aware of how poorly she is being compensated for long  _long_  days and grueling, sometimes depressing work.

“Your words Kar,” Lucy shrugs, already walking again. “What do you say? All you can eat buffet in Lexington sometime next week?”

“Ugh. Fine,” Kara gives in. “I’ll owe you two then.”

“Help me win at Scrabble against your sister next Game Night and we’re even.”

“Deal.”

///

The case Kara searches for on Lucy’s computer turns out to be a bust.

Once she’s back in her office, Kara can admit to herself that she’s not really surprised. She had hoped a little-known but crucial civil case, where Batman paraphernalia and copyrighting the vigilante’s logo were first challenged, would provide some answers.

It didn’t.

But Kara had known from the start that it was a long shot. Just like all her other desperate research into the matter has been a long shot.

Honestly, all it has really done is reinforce the fact that Robbie must have some real cojones for her to risk going against the unspoken rule of working around Capes and-

“Miss Danvers! Miss Danvers!” yells one of the office interns. Mellie? Ellie? Honestly, their intern turnover rate is so high Kara sometimes doesn’t even get to speak to the new intern before they’re gone. Off looking for greener pastures and less hectic workplaces.

“Miss Danvers!” the intern screams again, her voice now much closer to Kara’s office.

“What?” Kara yells back, already trotting out the hallway to intercept the hysterical-sounding kid shouting out for her.

“Mr. Mendez,” the intern pants, almost crashing into Kara as she sprints around the corner. “Mr. Mendez found another racoon in the basement filing cabinets!”

Oh dear.

Kara strongly suspects Mellie/Ellie will be gone soon as well. Off to greener pastures and pest-free workplaces.

“Is Juan ok?” Kara asks, leading the girl to one of the chairs that sometimes randomly appear in the hallways of the building.

(Kara likes to think it’s a silent protest from the cleaners that come once a month to vacuum the carpets that have been around since the building was built. She has yet to be able to confirm it though)

“He’s scratched up,” Mellie, Kara’s pretty sure Ellie was last month’s intern, gasps out, “Penelope is rushing him to the ER.”

“Animal control?”

“We called,” Mellie says, “but they’re still backed up dealing with that opossum fighting ring down in Kenstone.”

“Shit,” Kara curses. From what she’d gathered this morning, animal control will definitely be taking care of  _that_  mess for a good while longer.

“I’ll take care of it Mellie. You just make sure no one gets down there,” Kara orders, already walking towards the staircase. “And bring me the net that is in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet closest to my door, please.”

With a nod, Mellie takes off at a sprint again.

At least Kara got her name right.

///

A few hours after the impromptu racoon removal, Kara ignores both Robbie Hold’s triumphant smirk and the hushed whisperings that follow her out of Judge Connors’ office.

A splitting headache, borne of frustration and a sense of helplessness Kara had thought she’d gotten used to by now, continues to send throbbing spikes of pain to the spot behind her eyes. Kara rubs at them furiously, quickly slipping into the women’s restroom so that she can have the inevitable panic attack she feels incoming somewhere semi-private.

Miraculously, the restroom is empty.

Still, Kara makes sure to lock herself in the stall farthest from the door, where she then proceeds to put down the toilet lid and sit on it, curling into herself.

The shaking starts immediately, with sounds from all over the courthouse slamming into her at erratic intervals, choppy like ocean waves during a heavy storm. The smell of piss, chloride, and generic handsoap doesn’t help in dealing with the sensory hell that has decided to pay a visit.

Overall, Kara’s panic attack has lasted for just about five minutes when it’s, rather rudely, interrupted by her pager vibrating against her hip.

Somehow, the knowledge that she still has much work to do gives Kara enough fortitude or willpower or whateverto help her claw herself back out of the downwards spiral her brain and body have sent her towards.

Still, as Kara leaves the stall, the reflection shown on the restroom’s large mirrors catches her attention.

In it, Kara can’t help but notice that she looks… small.

And not in the way Kara has carefully and deliberately worked towards, all hunched posture and mousy manner. No, there’s something different weighing down her shoulders. Something beyond the unremarkable and harmless demeanor.

She can’t quite put her finger on it though.

Kara’s careful observation is interrupted by her ringing phone.

“Kara Danvers speaking,” she answers a bit roughly, still mostly focused on her reflection.

“Hey Kara,” Alex’s voice floats up from the phone’s receiver.

“Alex,” Kara smiles, “hi.”

“Hi,” Alex repeats, voice warm, “how’d it go with Connors?”

“Not great,” Kara admits, remembering the rather unfortunate ordeal. Her reflection grimaces with her, still looking… small.

Maybe it’s due to the way her blazer looks ill-fitting. The rumpled look mostly adds to the air of absent-mindedness and slight stress that’s been Kara’s norm since law school took over her life. It’s been going on for years now, so it shouldn’t really be the reason behind the barely perceptible diminishing of self that Kara’s reflection reveals. But who knows? Perhaps it’s a heavy contributor.

“I’m guessing he didn’t quash the subpoena,” Alex says, breaking the silence that has settled on the line.

“Nope,” Kara confirms, half-heartedly trying to adjust her blazer so that it rests better on her shoulders. Less askew at the very least. Then she rubs at the dark circles under her eyes – partly hidden by her crooked glasses – whilst ignoring the way her hands tremble slightly.

As the silence stretches out again, Kara realizes Alex is waiting for her to say more on the whole Supergirl fiasco.

“I tried to argue,” Kara hastily elaborates, “that the prosecutors did not share their intent to have Supergirl as a witness during discovery and thus her testimony should not be allowed. That didn’t work out. Apparently, Robbie has been trying to serve the subpoena since the very start, but without having an address at hand or a way for substituted service… And with Supergirl being so hard to locate, Robbie didn’t disclose it, expecting to have to do the case without the Super.”

Kara shrugs, eyes going back to her reflection, where she can see that her attempt of fixing her clothes was ultimately futile. She still looks all lopsided and wrinkled. There might actually be a spot of ketchup on her lapel from her lunch with Lucy too. Or maybe it’s blood? Kara doesn’t remember blood.

“And is that true?” Alex asks, interrupting Kara’s rambling thoughts.

“Who knows,” Kara responds, adding a shrug Alex can’t see. “Robbie lies better than anyone I’ve ever met. Every argument I tried fell short with Connors. Nothing about bad precedent, national security risks or public disruption swayed him.”

She sniffs at the stain. Ok, definitely ketchup.

“Oh,” Kara remembers, “also. After I gave up on stopping the subpoena, I tried to argue for having a closed hearing for Supergirl’s testimony but, by then Connors was so pissed off with me, he’s allowing full press access into the courtroom.”

“Well… fuck.”

Kara snorts at Alex’s accurate summary of the situation.

“Yep,” Kara agrees, rubbing again at her eyes. When she opens them, her reflection hasn’t changed.

There’s still a sallowness to Kara’s skin that no amount of sun can fix, a gauntness to her complexion, a narrowing of her shoulders that shows she perhaps hasn’t been eating as much as she should have been.

Well, there’s a lot of things she should have been doing.

Like not pestering Judge Connors to the point of spite.

“I think I really messed it up this time,” Kara admits to her sister, “I just hope antagonizing Connors doesn’t harm my client’s case.”

“You’re good at your job Kara,” Alex soothes, “You always do everything you can for your clients. Maybe Connors will understand.”

“Maybe,” Kara murmurs, smiling a bit at her sister’s words.

She suspects Alex doesn’t truly understand how Kara’s very pointed and very insisting questioning of Connors’ judgement could negatively affect her case. Not that Kara finds such ignorance surprising. After all, although she means well, Alex does not know the man or his pride.

And that stings a bit, Alex not knowing.

Because Kara has had Connors as judge in multiple cases. But Alex wouldn’t know that. Because Alex and Kara have never really spoken much about their jobs. Because Alex was lying about hers and so could never say much. And Kara, in turn, followed Alex’s lead, erroneously believing this was perhaps a normal thing human siblings did.

(Because Alex has always been the barometer against which Kara measures and compares how human behavior goes)

In her reflection, there’s a tightness to the corners of her mouth that makes her previously fond smile look strained and fragile.

“Any good news on your end?” Kara asks, trying to get her mind back on track. Back to focusing on what is important.

(There’ll be some other time for regrets)

“Well, Hank was a no-go,” Alex admits, apology obvious in her tone. “You’re technically not on payroll so he can’t really interfere. But he says that you might be able to get away with answering little if you cite confidentiality agreements. I’m sure saying something is classified will give you some leeway.”

“At least that’s something,” Kara agrees. “Lane?”

“Super unhelpful,” Alex growls. “Sees you being dragged to the stand as a good way to discredit you.”

“How does he figure that?” Kara wonders, taken aback by the logic.

“The more you refuse to answer the more untrustworthy the public will perceive you,” Alex says, still sounding annoyed.

“Oh. This day just gets better and better,” Kara groans, beyond tired of how this day has gone. Heck, tired of how this last year has gone.  

Maybe that’s what is weighing her down.

Exhaustion.

///

The day stretches on.

///

Juan Mendez, who hasn’t even been discharged from the hospital yet, doesn’t let any racoon stop him from reminding Kara of her other cases, which is how she finds herself rushing into the nearest county jail to meet a client.

“Good afternoon,” she says as soon as she clears the door. “Sorry I’m so late Mr. Rushmore, court ran a bit long today.”

“Um, hi.”

The man who greets her, Andre Rushmore, looks the way people tend to look after a few nights locked up: a little unkempt, mostly tired, a bit wide-eyed and kinda scared.

“Hi,” Kara parrots with a smile, knowing it tends to make the clients relax a bit. “My name is Kara Danvers and I’ll be representing you. Unfortunately, and I’m real sorry about this, I have another four clients to see before the end of the day, so I’m going to have to be quick here.”

And Kara really is sorry. She hates being forced to be so abrupt and quick.

But needs must and all that.

“I understand ma’am,” Andre replies quietly, all soft-spoken and beaten down. “I’ve been here before.”

Kara hates that too. That this kind of situation is regular enough that it’s  _expected_. It makes Kara furious beyond words.

But there’s no time for anger. So, Kara takes that fury and pushes it against her lungs, asphyxiates it in between breaths.

Needs must and all that. ****

“Ok Andre. I read your file and saw what the prosecution is charging you with. I’m sorry but I’ve seen the police report too, talked to a couple of the witnesses and I don’t think I’ll be able to get you out of the charges if this goes to trial,” she regretfully informs the man.

Andre just nods and leans forward so he can rest his head between his hands. And he just looks so damn  _resigned_ about it.

Kara hates that too.

“There are just too many witnesses,” she explains softly, “video evidence. Plus, you were caught at the scene. There’s no wiggle room that I can see. I’ve talked to the DDA assigned your case and, given your record, we’ve come to an agreement on a plea bargain.”

Andre still does not look up.  

“This is obviously your choice,” Kara gingerly continues, “if you want to fight this in court I will support you. But you need to be aware that I honestly think we’ll lose.”

And they will. This is one of those cases that is doomed from the start.

Andre knows it too.

“The deal,” he whispers, “I’ll take the deal.”

He doesn’t look up.

Kara pushes some more anger into her chest. Chokes it out against her ribcage and buries it somewhere in between her lungs. There’s no time for it.

Needs must and all that.

///

“Hello Mrs. Covarrubias,” Kara smiles, as warm and gentle as she can. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Kara Danvers and I’ll be your court-appointed lawyer. Unfortunately, and I’m real sorry about this, I have another three clients to see before the end of the day, so I’m going to have to be quick here but I really do think-”

“I’ll plead guilty,” Maria Covarrubias interrupts carelessly, orange jumpsuit clashing brightly against her red-dyed hair.

“Mrs. Covarrubias,” Kara begins, “I-”

“I remember you. You’re good kid,” Maria allows, “but we both know no one is good enough to get me out of this one.”

Kara’s smile turns flinty and hollow.

///

“Hello Mr. Chang,” Kara, doesn’t bother with smiling. “My name is Kara Danvers and I’ll be your court-appointed lawyer. Unfortunately, I have another two clients to see before the end of the day, so I’m going to have to be quick. I talked to the DDA assigned to your case and we reached an agreement. Here, this packet describes it in detail. Read it. Think about it.”

Kara sees Harry Chang go through her meticulously prepared packet with the slightly unfocused gaze of someone who has no idea what it is they’re reading.

“Can I- can I get a summary?” he asks, accent thick, face pale and pinched.

Kara suddenly understands why the guard had laughed at her the instant she’d asked for Harry.

The burst of anger she feels at the realization is pushed down down deep. Drowned somewhere in her chest cavity.

There’s no time for it.

“Sure,” she says, lips curled more into a grimace than a smile, “1. You plead No Contest. 2. You get a fine and two years probation. 3. You never never  _ever_  attempt to get near or contact your ex again. 4. You enroll and complete the anger management course at the Rivera Community Center. 5. You will volunteer once a month, minimum, at the Rape and Domestic Violence Center in Newark while on probation.”

“Volunteer?” Harry repeats slowly, sounding out the word.

“Yes,” Kara nods, “mostly, you will do housekeeping, errands and upkeep.”

“So… I will clean? That is all?” he asks, sounding relieved.

“Well,” and here Kara hesitates. She’d seen the police report filed by Harry’s former girlfriend. She’d seen the woman’s battered face.

Kara thinks that sending a soon-to-be-convicted abuser to volunteer around former and current victims of domestic violence is a terrible idea. But DDA Turner insisted, and Kara doesn’t want Harry to go to jail so…

Needs must and all that.

And yet…

“You will listen to what the people of RDVC do,” Kara says, steady and sure. She leans closer to Harry, makes sure all his attention is on her words.

“You will be accompanied at all times by your probation officer while volunteering in the Center. You will come across battered and abused women in all kinds of pain and you will  _never_  engage them but you  _will_  see,” Kara’s smile becomes all teeth. “Your actions caused fear. Your actions caused distress. Hurt. Irreparable damage to the worldview and trust of a woman you say you cared about. You do not truly understand this yet. But know this:  _you will_.”

Harry Chang signs the deal.

///

“Good evening Miss Rawlings.”

“And you are?” sniffs the woman sitting on the hard metal chairs of the police station.

“Kara Danvers, your attorney,” Kara replies, hoping the woman won’t begin crying. It’s always harder to talk with someone who is crying, “I’m sorry but I have another client to see before the end of the day so I’m going to have to rush a bit. I’ve looked into your case and unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about the charges themselves.”

"I’m going to prison?” Ada Rawlings cries out in disbelieving horror, her face going all wan and ashen in a matter of seconds.

“No no,” Kara rushes to reassure, “I talked down the DDA from pursuing felony charges. We’re looking at a misdemeanor here. No prison. No jail. Here,” she opens her trusty briefcase and rifles around until she grabs a yellow envelope with  _Ada Rawlings_  scrawled on top with permanent marker.

Ada accepts the proffered envelope with a shaky hand, opening it with the sort of trepidation Kara imagines a human might feel as they swim alone through the pitch-black waters of the deepest unknown parts of the ocean.

“I took the liberty of already arranging for a plea bargain with the DDA,” Kara explains softly, “the papers in the packet outline what you are being charged with and-”

“Probation?” Ada asks, already having read most of the first page before Kara could finish her explanation.

“Yep,” Kara nods, “like I said, no jail time for you Miss Rawlings. The deal means you pay a small fine. Get nine months of probation. And after the nine months, it’s all expunged. Also, you’re going to have to put in some community hours, but I think 100 hours is reasonable. I can send you an email with a spreadsheet of possible places to-”

“Spreadsheet?” Ada asks, looking a little overwhelmed again.

“Very handy way to keep information in one place,” Kara says in mock-seriousness.

And, either Ada has a dorkier sense of humor than previously shown, or she’s even more wrung out than Kara had thought, for she begins to giggle a little hysterically at Kara’s weak attempt of humor.

Before Kara can try to reassure the other woman though, her phone alarm rings, signaling that, powers of flight or not, she’s already going to be late for her next appointment unless she gets going  _now_.

“Oh gosh, I’m out of time. Here,” Kara grabs one of her printed cards, corners all beaten up and curled, and gently sets it atop Ada’s envelope.

“If you have any questions call or email,” Kara tells Ada encouragingly, “let me know what you think of the plea bargain. There might be some leeway on a few points outlined. Read the papers carefully, I tried to include definitions and there’s a FAQ on the back which I’ve gotten excellent feedback on but, again, call me if you-”

“I don’t have a phone on me right now,” Ada interrupts. She sounds numb, and altogether too lost.

Kara hates it. But it also reminds Kara that she hasn’t mentioned that-

“I tracked down your older sister over in Kentucky and she was kind enough to post your bail. She’s actually waiting outside to take you home.”

“Home?” Ada repeats shakily and overwhelmed.

“Home Miss Rawlings,” Kara confirms as gently as she can.

Still, Ada Rawlings bursts out in tears.

Kara is unsure if they’re from relief, or from a lessening of fear, or maybe even from anger perhaps. All she knows is that they’re tears. And that, no matter how cathartic tears may be, Kara can’t leave her client crying alone like this in this bare and drab room.

So Kara walks around the table and crouches so that they are level, and then she hugs the younger woman. Ada clutches back, her tears seeping into the shoulder pad of Kara’s blazer.

When her phone alarm rings out again Kara silences it without a thought.

She can be a little late.

///

“Mr. Higgins! I’m so sorry I’m late, today has been hectic beyond measure and-”

“Ms. Danvers. You just missed a most illuminating conversation.”

Kara looks at the tall man in the tailored suit that is sitting where she expected her client to be.

“Armitage,” Kara responds evenly. “What are you doing here? I had this room reserved for a meeting with-”

“Your client yes,” he interrupts. Armitage looks angry. But satisfied as well. It unsettles Kara who, in her tenure as public defender, has become well aware that a satisfied prosecutor only means bad news for her.

“Unfortunately,” Armitage continues, “you were running rather late. Mr. Higgins became… discouraged, by your absence.”

The unsettled feeling worsens.

“What did you do?” Kara asks.

“Just talked. Let him know what I thought of the troubling news,” Armitage shrugs carelessly, but his eyes never leave Kara’s. There’s something hungry in them. Every single instinct in Kara just screams at her.

“News?” Kara repeats, asking for clarification.

She’s unsure of what he means and that only puts her more on edge. She’s always disliked this feeling of being out of the loop. In her profession, she finds that lack of knowledge can lead to some really unpleasant consequences for other people.

“You didn’t hear?” and here Armitage looks surprised, the smug angry satisfaction leaving his features altogether. “Carmen Valdez died this afternoon,” he reveals. “Complications from surgery.”

“What. No, I didn’t get any calls,” Kara says, dread settling on the back of her neck, making the hairs there stand on end. “I- Peter. Peter, please. Where is Ian? What did you tell him?”

“I- the truth,” Peter looks lost now, unsure of how to proceed. “I saw him sitting here and I just got so angry…”

“Peter,” Kara begs.

“I told him we were going to bring up additional charges,” Peter explains, some anger returning in the clenching of his jaw. “Man-slaughter. Murder, if I could. You- you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t,” Kara admits, close to panic now. Rao what a mess. And to have her client hear the news from someone other than her. Worse, from the prosecution…

Kara panics further.

“And Higgins…”

“Didn’t know either,” Kara responds to Peter’s unfinished question. “Dammit Peter, where’s Ian?”

“Back in his cell,” Peter admits, looking troubled.

Kara stands, intending to go get Ian, hoping to catch him before he does something monumentally stupid like-

“Kara.” Peter grabs her arm. “Kara. He confessed.”

Something stupid like confessing to a crime he is currently on trial for.

Shit.

“No,” Kara denies, “Anything he said here  _will not_  be-”

“It’s over Danvers,” Peter says, tone going for soothing but instead landing on patronizing.

He hasn’t let go of her arm yet.

“It’s over Kara.”

“Did he sign the confession?” Kara asks, shrugging off Armitage’s hand.

“Well, no,” Armitage admits, “but-”

“Then it isn’t over. He just got caught up in the moment. You ambushed him. It means nothing,” Kara argues, already thinking of how she can spin this entire thing into something else. How to invalidate her client’s hasty words.

“Jesus Danvers,” Armitage seethes, seeing where she is obviously going with her line of logic, “why do you even care about this guy? He’s a fucking murderer. He killed someone. And for what? A couple of hundred bucks and a purse?”

Kara shakes her head, already stepping away from Armitage, towards the door and towards her client.

“That doesn’t mean he deserves to be put away for the rest of his life,” she says, trying to explain, knowing already that it is a futile attempt. Armitage will not agree with her beliefs. Not now.

“It doesn’t?” Armitage scoffs. “Tell that to Carmen Valdez. Except, wait! You can’t. Because she’s fucking dead.”

“Fuck you,” Kara growls out. She knew he wouldn’t get it. That he wouldn’t understand, but Rao, she’s just real fucking tired of the constant antagonism.

“Whatever,” Armitage spits out. “Go talk to your killer. His days are counted anyways.”

Kara slams the door on her way out.

///

“Ian…”

Ian Higgins looks like crap. Drained, as if his usual vivaciousness and cheer had been sucked out of him. Kara has rarely seen him without some kind of smile, without a glimmer of hope making his face look boyish and charming.

There is no charm left in the wilted frame of the man in front of her.

Fucking Peter Armitage.

Kara smothers the flash of rage that tries to escape her chest. She smothers it, crushes it until it crystallizes against the older dead and calcified fury that is already pushing against her lungs. The sharp edges of it all makes her breathing hurt but Kara ignores that too.

There’s no time for it.

“I just left her there,” Ian whispers, not looking up from his clasped hands. “I didn’t mean to. God, I don’t even know why I took the stupid gun. And then- I just left her there. Bleeding in that alley. God, and it was such a cold night. I left her there. Cold and bleeding and alone and-”

“Shut the fuck up Ian,” Kara orders.

The cussing shocks him into silence. Thankfully. Kara doesn’t know how much more of his words she could have heard before her lungs bled with rage.

Still, his head remains hung low, eyes never leaving his white-knuckled hands.

Rao what a mess.

Kara doesn’t know how to fix this, how to make this near-broken man willing to fight for his freedom again.

Ian has no kids, no family to support. He isn’t close to his community. He isn’t a man of faith. His life hasn’t been particularly harsh or difficult. He doesn’t have a mental illness.

Hell, she knows he isn’t even innocent of this crime.

And because of all that he isn’t, Kara can’t ask him to fight for family or equality or justice. Because none of those things are particularly important to him.

The only thing left for him to fight for is himself.

“Do you know what my job consists of?” Kara asks the man silently falling apart in front of her.

She waits patiently, unbothered by the silence, knowing that he’ll say something eventually.

(They all do)

“Um,” Ian speaks, low and hesitant, “you defend criminals who can’t afford to pay for a lawyer.”

“Not only criminals, but yeah,” Kara confirms, “I constantly have to look out for the interests of people who commit both terrible crimes and terrible mistakes.”

Ian remains silent.

“Do I seem like the type of person who would do this?” Kara asks.

This finally makes Ian look up.

Kara is well aware of how most people perceive her.

She’s aware of the softness of her features, the friendliness of her smile, the delicate-looking bones of her wrists and the daintiness of some of her actions. Kara rarely looks aggressive, even in court. She never looks particularly sturdy, even mid-threat. Being so strong means that she  _has to_  be gentle in doing stuff, which people instinctively notice, even if they don’t understand the why behind it.

And gentle people usually aren’t connected to crime the way she is.

So, as Ian looks at her, as he thinks back on their previous interactions, Kara knows what his answer is going to be. Counts on it even.

“No. You don’t seem the type,” he admits, unsurprisingly.

“And lots of people agree with you,” Kara says, “I have been asked more than a few times about the irrationality of wanting the best for these people who have committed wrongs on others. And I understand why people ask. I’m not as naïve as I look.”

“Then- why do you…” Ian trails off, but the question is obvious.

_Why do you fight for the best interests of people who may have wronged others?_

“I…” Kara takes a moment to try and put into words what she couldn’t make Peter Armitage understand earlier.

“I don’t believe people are  _inherently_  good,” Kara says, slow and measured. “But I believe they can _become_ good. And, if that chance exists, I will always fight for it. For who a person can be.”

Kara only wishes more people believed this as well.

“Humanity doesn’t need people languishing in cells and prisons,” Kara continues, “this planet needs kindness. And compassion. The opportunity to grow into something better. Someone more.”

Ian doesn’t say anything, but Kara can see that the impromptu speech is making him think.

“Look,” she says, trying to build on that glimmer of hesitation she can see in Ian, “I might not always win. Or I might not always be right in my judgement of someone. After all, there are vile men who do good things and good men who commit evil deeds and average men who do neither.  _But I will always care_ ,” she stresses, “As irrational as it may be.”

Kara puts her hands over Ian’s. Squeezes a bit, a probably futile attempt at non-verbal encouragement. But she does it anyways. Anything that might help make him  _see_.

“I’m not going to give up on you Ian,” Kara insists, with as much conviction as she can push onto the words.

“But…” Ian trails off. But Kara sees a bit of hope return to his expression.

It makes him look younger.

“What you did was wrong,” Kara says after a beat, once it becomes clear Ian will say no more. “In so many ways. And your fuck up cost someone their life. Because you were selfish. Because you were so tangled up in your own problems, so involved in your own tragedy, that you never bothered to look beyond yourself.”

The accusation lands heavily on Ian, his shoulders slumping again. Kara squeezes his hands again before he can duck his head though, she needs him to look her in the eye for this next part.

“What you did was wrong,” she repeats, “but that doesn’t mean your life has to end too Ian. That doesn’t mean you can’t atone. Become someone better than you were.”

“I- I don’t know if I can,” he whispers leaning towards her, tone regretful and ashamed. “I’m a selfish man Kara. Always have been. Always will be. I don’t think I’ll ever be someone good. Not like you believe.”

“How do you know that?” Kara argues softly, “you haven’t even tried yet.”

They both mull over the words silently, not looking away from each other.

“Ian,” Kara pleads, “I want to give you the chance to try.”  

After a beat of silence, where Kara’s heart thumps rapidly in her chest, nerves and anticipation giving it a tempo closer to that of a hummingbird than a human’s, Ian nods.

“Yeah?” Kara asks, relieved beyond words.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice strong for the first time since she entered the room, “yeah ok. I’ll try.”

“Ok.”

///

Kara is woken a bit past midnight by a knock at her office door.

When she looks up, there, leaning against the frame is Maggie, a soft affectionate look on her face as she takes in Kara’s slumped posture.

”You’re gonna wrinkle your suit,” Maggie teases gently, all dimples and bright eyes.

“Eh,” Kara shrugs, “This suit hasn’t seen an iron since my law school days. It’ll survive a few more creases.”

Maggie steps inside the cluttered space with a laugh. The office is so tiny, it only takes her a few steps to end up right next to Kara. Slowly, she lifts a hand and runs it from Kara’s shoulder to the back of her neck. When Kara hums a bit, liking the weight of it, Maggie leaves it there to rest, light but solid against Kara’s spine.

“Let me drive you home. It’s late. And you’re tired,” Maggie murmurs, dragging her hand down to the middle of Kara’s back, rubbing at that one spot that always begins to hurt after long hours of sitting, Kryptonian physiology or not.

“I am tired. But I can’t leave,” Kara says, feeling rueful and a bit sorry for herself, “there’s still so much I need to do and-”

“Kara,” Maggie interrupts, voice doing that thing where it drops in pitch with disapproval. Kara knows that if she looks up Maggie’s smile will have gone all exasperated.

Kara peeks up and… yep. Exasperated smile. Check.

(It hasn’t turned any less fond though)

“I’m sorry Maggie,” she says, genuine regret coating her words.

“At least come and eat something,” Maggie insists, “I made lasagna yesterday. We can heat it up.”

Kara thinks back on the gauntness of her reflection. On the narrowness of her shoulders. Of the hunger gnawing somewhere in her stomach.

Huh. She must have skipped dinner again.

“With eggplant?” Kara asks, conceding defeat.

“Yea,” Maggie confirms happily, “And rhubarb pie.”

“Oh,” Kara breathes out in surprise, “I can’t say no to pie.”

“I know,” Maggie teases, “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeves, counselor.”

///

Maggie pretends not to notice the way Kara tilts a little to the side during dinner, close to nodding off.

Afterwards, she herds the exhausted attorney to the couch and makes Kara lay down for a bit while she heats up some pie for them.

She dawdles a bit, and so, by the time the two slices are warm, Kara is fast asleep.

With a chuckle, Maggie carefully pulls off Kara’s shoes, then covers her with a soft and thread-bare blanket.

The suit will be hopelessly wrinkled the next morning, but then again, when isn’t it?

///

Kara rests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this is completed. I know people have wondered how Kara will deal with being subpoenaed as SG and I'm still mulling over how to do that. Once I think up something I'll add to this but for now... done.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little romp! If you have thoughts to share... comment! Or hit me up on Tumblr. Always nice to hear from people.

**Author's Note:**

> Public defenders are overworked and underfunded.


End file.
